_ CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. DOWN THE SCHOOL GROUNDS
Later on in life, when Dr Bewley's pupils had grown up to manhood, they used to think that in spite of school-troubles and a great deal of hard work, with the natural accompaniments of temporary fits of ill-health (which matured reason taught them had generally been due to some bit of boyish folly not unconnected with pocket-money, extra home-tips, and visits to the highly popular tuck-shop), the sun had always seemed to shine brightly at Dr Bewley's establishment.
There was only one boy there who wore spectacles, not because he had bad eyes, for they were very bright and good, but because nature had formed the lenses of a more than usually rounded shape, with the consequence that their owner was short-sighted and needed a pair of concave glasses to deal with the rays of light and lengthen the focus of the natural lenses. But, metaphorically and poetically, as somebody once wrote, every boy wore glasses of the _couleur-de-rose_ type--those which make everything that is happily beautiful seem ten times more so, and in later days have made many a man say to himself, "Oh, if I could see life now as I saw it then!"
There were cloudy and rainy days, of course, at Plymborough; and when the former were recalled it was generally in connection with the loss of Singh's belt.
It was on one of these cloudy days, when paradoxically the sun was shining brilliantly in the pure blue south-western sky, that Glyn and Singh were strolling down the grounds together, looking straight before them, with the full intention of driving the school-troubles out of their minds for the time being.
"What's the good of worrying about it, Singhy?" Glyn had said. "I know it's a horrible nuisance, with the suspicion and unpleasantry, and it was a very beautiful thing, which I am very, very sorry has been lost; but let's try and forget it."
"Oh, who can forget it?" cried Singh impatiently.
"Well, I know it's hard work, and it all seems like a nasty little bit of grit in the school machine. I can't get on with a single lesson without your wretched belt getting into it."
"My wretched belt!" cried Singh hotly.
"Now, don't get into a passion, old chap. That isn't being English. You must learn not to put so much pepper in one's daily curry."
"Oh, I am not cold-blooded like you. You English are so horribly tame."
"Oh no, we are not," said Glyn. "We have got plenty of pepper in us when we want it; but that's where education comes in. I don't mean Dr Bewley's stuff and all we learn of the masters; but, as my dad says, the cultivation that makes a fellow an English gentleman. And do you know what that means?"
"Oh, bother! No."
"Then I'll tell you, Singhy. It's learning to be able to keep the stopper in the cruet till it's really wanted. Do you understand?"
"No; and I wish you'd talk in plain English and say what you mean, and not build up a rigmarole all round it. Our people at home never do so."
"Oh, come, I like that!" cried Glyn, laughing. "Why, people out in the East are always, when they want to teach anything, turning it into a fable."
"Bother fables! Bother the belt! It's made the whole place seem miserable."
"Then don't think about it any more."
"I can't help it, I tell you. Why, you owned just now that you were as bad."
"Not so bad as you are, Singhy. I do try to throw it all aside. You don't."
"Ah, it's very well for you to talk. You haven't lost something that's worth nobody knows how much."
"Well, but never mind; you can afford it. See what a jolly old Croesus you are going to be when you grow up!"
"Bah! How do I know that I am going to be rich?"
"Don't be a humbug. Why, father has been looking after your revenues for years, and I heard him say once that money was accumulating tremendously during your minority. After all, what's a belt with some bright stones in it? You could have a dozen more made if you wanted them. But you don't! Who wants to look pretty like some great girl? The greatest thing in life is to be a man. Father says so, and you know he's always right."
"Yes," said Singh thoughtfully; "he's always right; but did he say that?"
"Well, not quite," said Glyn, laughing; and Singh looked at him suspiciously. "What he said was that the grandest thing in life was to be a boy."
"Ah," cried Singh argumentatively, "but that is very different. A man can do what he likes, but a boy can't."
"Oh, but a boy's a young man, or is going to be. I mean to be always glad that I am a boy, for father says that when I grow up to be a man I shall be often wishing that I was young again. Now, don't let's go on worrying about this and the old belt. You never wore it, and if it hadn't been lost I don't believe you ever would have used it. You see, after living in England you'll have learned that great English people never dress up except on some grand day when Parliament's going to be opened or somebody's going to be crowned; and then noblemen, I suppose, put on robes and wear their coronets. You'd never have wanted the belt."
"Well, I don't know about that," said Singh. "Of course I shall always dress like an Englishman; but I suppose sometimes, by-and-by, I shall have to dress up to show myself to my people."
"Oh yes, just once in a way, and when you are going to meet the other chiefs; but I'll bet sixpence you will soon be glad enough to take the things off again."
"But I say," cried Singh, "look here. What about soldiers and officers? They dress up pretty grandly."
"Well, yes," said Glyn laughingly; "we are obliged to make them look nice, or they wouldn't care about going shooting people and cutting off heads. Now, promise me you won't worry any more about the belt."
"Well, I will try," cried Singh, "and I shouldn't have bothered about it so much now, only every fellow in the school looks at me as if he were thinking about it all the time."
"Don't believe it," said Glyn. "You fancy he does. There now, let it go. Here, come and have a turn at something."
"What?"
"I don't know. Let's go across the field there and get under the elms. There are a whole lot of the fellows there. They have got some game on. There's Slegge yonder."
"Oh, I don't want to go where Slegge is."
"But you should want to go where Slegge is. I know he's a nasty, disagreeable fellow; but you needn't notice that. If he's civil--well, that will be right enough. If he isn't, treat him with good-humoured contempt. You aren't afraid of him, are you?"
"I! Afraid of him!" cried Singh indignantly, and he emitted quite a puff of angry breath.--"What did you do that for?" he continued angrily, for, as if by accident, Glyn, with a quick gesture, had knocked off his cap, and then stooping quickly snatched it from off the grass and put it carefully on again. "You did that on purpose," cried Singh angrily.
"Oh, it's all right. It was the stopper came off, and I put it on again."
"Bah!" cried Singh with a snort; but he walked quietly on, gradually calming down as his companion half-guided him towards the group of boys who were idling about under the elm-trees, pretty close to where the new piece of fence marked the place where the elephant went through.
Yielding to Glyn, Singh would have walked quietly up with him and been ready enough under his friend's guidance to embark on any sport or game that was going on; but as Glyn afterwards said when he was laughing it over, "old Slegge" made the pepper-stopper shoot out at once, for, after evidently seeing who were approaching, he slowly edged himself round till his back was to the companions, and began talking aloud, measuring the time by means of his ears till he came to the conclusion that Singh was near enough to catch everything he said, and even Glyn winced as he heard the lad say:
"Oh, by the way, you fellows, I suppose you have done it for a lark, and you mean to put it back in my box; but I have missed my turban, the one with the big pearl in it that fastens the plume of feathers."
The boys were silent, staring at the speaker, for they did not catch the point of the remark; and Slegge continued:
"You see, I set great store by that turban. It was an old one of my father's, and of course it was very valuable. You see, in Bungly Horror a turban like that--some fellows call them puggamarees, but that's only because they are ignorant beggars--but as I was saying, turbans like that come down from father to son. I don't know how old this one was, and nobody notices that they are old, because they always go so regularly to the wash; and you know the more muslin's washed the whiter it gets, while as for the holes, of course, they are the beauty of it, because it gets to look more and more like splendid old lace."
Slegge's remarks remained problematical for a few moments, and then the meaning came with a flash to Burton, who had suddenly caught sight of Singh and Glyn.
He burst into a merry guffaw at once, and thus set off the rest, while Slegge waited till they had done before going on with the by no means poor imitation of Singh's manner of speaking and a rather peculiar utterance of the consonant _r_.
"I don't know what you fellows are laughing at," he said, with a look of supreme innocency; "but I suppose you don't know any better. It's your ignorance of the value of family relics like that; and because you never see me bouncing about the schoolyard with my turban on, you think I haven't got one in my box--I mean, had one; so now no more nonsense. Whoever took it for a lark had better put it back before I get my monkey up--Indian monkey, I mean--for if I do there's going to be head-punching, and no mistake."
"Come on, Singh," said Glyn quietly, as he slipped his arm through his companion's and tried to lead him away. "Don't take any notice of the malicious brute."
But Singh's feet seemed to be shod with something magnetic which made them cling to the ground, and he stood fast.
"Come on, I say," cried Glyn. "No nonsense! Do you hear?"
Singh turned upon him quickly with an angry flash in his eyes, and he was about to burst out with some fierce retort; but in those brief moments it seemed to him that it was not Glyn's but the Colonel's masterful eyes that were gazing down into his, as, truth to tell, they had more than once looked down upon his father in some special crisis when in the cause of right the brave English officer had with a few words mastered the untutored Indian chief, and maintained his position as adviser as well as friend.
The next minute Singh was walking quietly away by his companion's side; but his arm kept giving a sharp jerk as Slegge went on speaking more and more loudly, uttering words so that the friends might hear.
"I don't care," said Slegge; "you fellows can do what you like, but I am not going to believe it. It's all a got-up thing. I don't believe there ever was any precious belt, or, if there was, it was only a green glass sham. Emeralds set in gold, indeed! Whoever heard of a fellow coming to school with a thing like that in his box? Bah! Yah! It isn't likely that even a nigger would do it." And as the companions passed out of earshot, Slegge continued, "It doesn't matter to me; my time's nearly up at school, thank goodness! and I shall finish with the next half. But I do pity you poor beggars who have got to stay. I don't know what the place is coming to. It seems to me that old Bewley's head's getting soft, unless he's getting so hard-up that he's glad to take anybody's money to keep the old mathematical musical-box going, or else he wouldn't have taken a nigger to be put in the same rank with English gentlemen."
"Here, you had better mind," said Burney.
"Why?" snapped out Slegge.
"Because you will have old Glyn hear you."
"Pooh! What do I care for Glyn?"
"Ever so much," said Burney. "I don't suppose you want another licking."
"Look here, Burney, none of your cheek, please, or else somebody else will get a licking. None of that. You were always a sneak, and trying to curry favour with the Indian nigger."
"Curry, eh?" said Burney with a half-laugh. "Well, suppose I did. I like Indian curry."
"Do you. But you won't like my curry," snorted out Slegge, "for I'll give you such a curry-combing down as will make you sore for a week, my fine fellow.--Look here, boys, all of you; I am not ashamed to own I was licked that day, for I was weak and ill, and in one of the first rounds I nearly put my elbow out of joint. Something was put out of joint, but it snapped back."
"He means his nose," whispered little Burton. "It has been ever since Severn came. I never heard it snap back; did you?"
"I saw him blow it several times," said the companion to whom he spoke, "and I saw his pocket-hanky after, and, oh my!"
"What are you two boys plotting there?" snarled Slegge. "My ears are sharper than you think, and if you don't want yours pulled you had better drop it."
Little Burton dropped upon his knees, crouching down all of a heap and seeming to subside into the worn brown earth as he laid his forehead upon the ground, while Slegge seized the opportunity and rushed at him as if he were a football, delivering a heavy kick that sent the poor little fellow over.
"Serve you right!" cried Slegge, as the boy uttered a sharp cry of pain. "Now, go and yelp somewhere else. Let's have none of your howlings here."
But only a faint sob followed, while the little fellow rose with his teeth closely set and lips compressed, as he tried to stifle the cries that were struggling to escape, and then stood leaning against his nearest companion without uttering a sound.
"Look here, Burton," sneered Slegge, "go and tell Severn, and ask him to come and lick me again. I am ready, and I'll let him see.--Yes, you may look, Mr Burney, Esquire. I saw that letter yesterday you had from home. Esquire indeed! It's sickening!--I am ready to have it out with him whenever he likes, and take the nigger after him when he's had his gruel. Go and tell him if you like. It's been dull enough in the place ever since that miserable imposture about the lost belt. You want something to rouse you up, and I'll give it you if you can bring those two fellows up to the scratch; but that you can't do. Look at them sneaking off like a street cur and an Indian jackal. Contemptible beasts! I only wish they would come back. I feel just in the humour now to give them what for. Yah!--Well, any of you going to fetch them back?"
"I'm not," said Burney, shrugging his shoulders. And he turned half-away as if to go and lean against the fence, but really to hide his face as he muttered to himself, "Oh, shouldn't I like to see you licked again!"
"Well, who's going?" cried Slegge haughtily.--"No one?--Here, you, you snivelling little wretch," he continued, turning to little Burton, "go, and tell that big bully Severn that I am waiting here to give him his dose, and that he's to bring the nigger with him to have his lot when I have done with number one.--Yes, boys, I feel just in the humour for it, and I am going to cut both their combs.--Do you hear, Burton?"
The little fellow drew a long, deep breath, but he did not move.
"Do you hear what I say?" roared Slegge.
"Yes," said the little fellow sturdily.
"Well, be off, then, at once, before you get another kick."
"Shan't!" cried the little fellow, through his set teeth; and a sharp jerk seemed to run through his body as he clenched his fists.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" cried Slegge, making a stride towards him.
"Run, Burton, run!" cried two or three voices.
"Shan't!" came again.
"No," cried Slegge. "He'd better! I'd run him! Here, I don't want to hurt you, young un. You go and tell them both what I say."
"Shan't!" cried the little fellow fiercely, and he looked his persecutor full in the face.
"Hark at him! Hark at the little bantam!" cried Slegge, with a forced laugh. "And look at them, boys. Look at the two slinking off like the curs they are, with their tails between their legs. There, you will be disappointed; there's no fight in them."
The big school-hero was quite right certainly as far as one of the pair was concerned, for just then Singh was saying, "Oh, it's cowardly of you. I can't bear it. I will go back and have a go at him myself."
"No, you won't," said Glyn sturdily, and he locked Singh's arm well within his own.
"How dare he insult me like that! I don't care if he half-kills me; but I won't bear it."
"Yes, you will," said Glyn, "like a man."
"Like a coward, you mean."
"No, I don't. I am not going to have you knocked about just because a low bully abuses you."
"Well, will you go and thrash him yourself?"
"No. I have whipped the cur once, and I am not going to lower myself by fighting again because in his spite he turned and barked at us. I could do it again, and I feel just in the humour; but what does it mean? Black eyes and bruises, and the skin off one's knuckles, and a nasty feeling that one has degraded one's self into fighting a blackguard, for that's what he is, or he wouldn't have insulted you as he did just now.--Come away."
"Oh, I didn't think you were such a coward, Glyn."
"And you don't think so now," replied Glyn coolly. "You are in a regular rage, and that's just the difference between you Indian fellows and an Englishman. You begin going off like a firework."
"Yes, and you go off as if you had had cold water poured on you."
"Very likely," replied Glyn. "There, we are both hot now. Let's try and cool down. I don't care whether it seems cowardly or whether it doesn't; but I am not going to get up a fight and make an exhibition of myself for the other fellows to see. Once was quite enough; and perhaps after all it's harder work to bear a thing like this than to go over yonder and punch old Slegge's head and have it out."
"I don't care whether it is or not," said Singh fiercely. "Let's go, and if you won't fight, I will."
"Look here, Singhy; you and I have had lots of wrestles, haven't we?"
"Yes; but what's that got to do with it?"
"Why, this. I am not bragging; but I have more muscle in my arms than you have, and if I like I can put you on your back at any time."
"Ur-r-r-r-r-ur!" growled Singh.
"That means you own it. Well now, look here; if you try to get away from me I'll put you down on your back and sit upon you till you grow cool."
"Do if you dare!" cried Singh.
Glyn closed with him on the instant. There was a short struggle. The young Indian prince was laid neatly upon his back almost without an effort on the part of Glyn, who the next moment was seated calmly astride his companion's chest, fortunately well out of sight of the group beneath the elms. Then for a few minutes Singh heaved and struggled, glaring the while into his companion's eyes, until, as if he had caught the contagion of the good-humoured smile in Glyn's frank young face, a change came over Singh's, and the fierce heaving gave way to a movement that was certainly the beginning of a laugh, followed by a good-humoured appeal.
"Let me get up, Glyn. I am quite quiet now," said the boy.
"No games?"
"No; honour bright. It's all over now, and I don't want to fight."
The next minute the two lads were walking away as if nothing had happened. _